I like to think of January here as an apology for November. November is dark, damp, cold, and gray – oppressively, endlessly, hopelessly gray. December is brighter because of the lights at the Christmas market and the crispness that sharpens in the air as fall unfurls itself as winter.
And then there’s January, our month of big skies, fresh cold, and spectacular sunsets. Watching night fall is watching an artist at work.
Accustomed to this in January, we were surprised by the days of fog that limited visibility just to the end of the courtyard. The world melted away into white, into gray, and January gave us November vibes.
But the air was full of crystals, and the crystals created their own art.
I was surprised by the brightness of the kitchen this morning and looked up to see the half-moon that had created a reflection of window panes on the floor. The sky was newly clear and I could see the sun beginning to rise as I rode my bike through cold that crackled, everything still covered in last night’s frost. This was January as we know it, coming back after a short rest.
Since moving abroad, I’ve had the feeling that my birthday lasts three days. People have sent me birthday wishes a day early or late depending on the time zone I’m in or they’re in, and sometimes it takes me half a day to check my phone, regardless of time zone. I love the feeling of being hugged the world over, and I love the ease of being in touch with people who I have met in different corners of the sky.
This year, my birthday fell on a Monday, my first day back at school after two and a half weeks off. I expected to feel a bit let down by it, but I surprised myself. I am lucky enough to enjoy going to work and I let myself feel pleased by the birthday wishes coming from students and teachers alike. This seemed better than the embarrassment that I’ve conjured up in the past. Maybe it also helped I finally look old enough to avoid, with the notable exception of my grade 7 students, the question of exactly that. They quickly assured me that I don’t look that old, leaving me both flattered and inwardly groaning.
My in-laws surprised me by stopping by with flowers and they stayed for the pizza that my partner and I made from scratch. He has perfected the dough recipe, and it was our best pizza yet. I requested a candle and made a wish, marvelling that this tradition spans oceans. Having left my own family mere days before, it was not just the wine that left me feeling warm as we sat together at the table.
For the coming weekend, we’ve planned a small party to celebrate, inviting more people than we think our apartment can hold. I’m honoured that so many friends can be with us and counting on a bit of birthday magic.
On Monday, I made the same wish upon a candle that I make every time I’m granted a wish, be it on a star or an escaped eyelash. And now my wish for you: May it be a joyful, healthy, peaceful 2025 for you and yours.
December is a dark month here in central Germany. It was a dark month where I grew up, too, in a place that averages about 200 cloudy days a year. But December feels somewhat less dark than November, likely because the Christmas Markets and the special events that take place during Advent make this month seem brighter.
Today is our last day of school before the holidays and the days will grow longer soon.
As a treat, the sun has broken through the clouds more than once in the last week, if just for a few minutes at a time. On two occasions, this delightful happening coincided with a time in which I did not have a lesson, so I pulled on my coat and went straight outside. I stood in the direct path of the rays, tilted my face skyward, and soaked in what my body had desperately missed.
For the past weeks, we’ve been keeping it cozy at home. Our paper star hangs in front of the balcony door in the kitchen and I’ve been burning candles in the living room. I got into the mood to bake earlier this week, a rare thing indeed, just to bask in the scents that would fill the kitchen. Evenings have been spent cuddled under blankets on the couch, drinking tea, reading, watching.
We’ve almost made it to the darkest day of the year.
As I write this, the sun is struggling to show itself through steel-gray clouds that held rain earlier today. I’d prefer it to snow, but the climate here is such that the beginning of December is significantly colder than the middle, and Christmas itself has been remarkably warm each of my years here. I am expecting this to be the case again, but there’s always a wish for a white Christmas. I wanted a white Christmas growing up, regardless of not celebrating, and remember equal numbers of years where it was or wasn’t that way.
Snow is, after all, brighter than rain.
But tonight we’ll meet friends at the Christmas market, drink mulled wine, and enjoy each other’s company. We’ve been there in below-zero temperatures, in the rain, and in a surprise snow flurry, so the rather warm weather of today, leaving the earth smelling more like spring than winter, should round everything out nicely.
The communal warmth of December comes exactly when we need it to, and it’s not a bad thing to come together with others at a dark time.
Happy holidays, happy New Year, and all the best to you and yours.
Weimar, Germany – November 2024
Photos, travels, musings, and ideas on education by someone trying to make the world a better and more peaceful place
By Rebecca Michelle 